The game at Dublin, which commenced auspiciously for the Giants, was turned into a rout by a rally of the All-Americans in the ninth. A rain of bingles came from their bats and they won easily with six runs to spare.
“Got it in the neck that time, old man,” said Joe to Jim, after the game. “But we can’t always win. What do you say to getting a buzz wagon and taking a little spin out into the country? The girls will be getting ready for that reception at the Viceroy’s castle, and they’ll be too busy dolling up to care what becomes of us.”
“Good idea,” said Jim, and the two friends made their way to a public garage, secured a good car together with a driver, and whirled away into the open country.
They had made perhaps twenty miles through the beautiful Irish scenery when Joe called Jim’s attention to a cloud bank forming in the west.
“Better skip back, old man,” he said. “We’re due for a wetting if we don’t.”
“Plenty of time yet,” objected Jim. “Those look to me just like wind clouds. Let’s see a little bit more of Ireland.”
They went on perhaps five miles further and then Jim found that his confidence was misplaced. 236 The clouds grew blacker, an ominous muttering was heard in the sky and a jagged flash of lightning presaged the coming storm.
“You see I was right,” said Joe. “In this open car we’ll be drenched to the skin. Turn around, Mike,” he said to the driver, “and let’s see how fast this old boat of yours can travel in getting back to Dublin. Throw her into high and give her all you’ve got.”
The driver obeyed and the car fairly purred as it sped back toward the city. But fast as it was, the storm was faster. Great raindrops pattered down, and they looked anxiously about for shelter.
“What’s that place up there, Mike?” asked Jim, pointing to a rambling stone structure on an elevation perhaps a hundred yards from the road.